


Snowbound

by idkdestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Basically Dean is a dick, Cuddling, Destiel - Freeform, Detention, Gay Sex, Human!Castiel - Freeform, M/M, Tons of Snow, Wingman Shakespeare, and Castiel wants it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2208717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idkdestiel/pseuds/idkdestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a rather unfortunate coincidence that Castiel is trapped at school due to a blizzard. It's even more unfortunate that the only one to keep him company is Dean Winchester - Of all people it had to be him. Now, that's just great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 0

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarah K. bc she's awesome](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sarah+K.+bc+she%27s+awesome).



> I got the idea for this fic somewhen during Geography class, so, like, yeah, there will be way more plot later on.

Castiel stares blankly at the paper in front of him.  
  
 _Explain why Juliet's death is or is not Romeo's fault. Write at least 300 words and put a word count at the bottom of your paper.  
  
_ He very much would like to take the pencil right next to his hand, but with someone making unnerving clicking noises with a ballpoint pen, Castiel can't focus. Silence is what he needs to get safely through the exam, but that certain someone doesn't seem to have any intentions in stopping.  
  
 **Click click.  
  
** His right hand clenches into a tight fist and Castiel screws his eyes shut to blind the sound out.  _Juliet killed herself because she thought Romeo was dead. His fault. Romeo didn't kill himself so Juliet would do the same since he thought she already was dead when he arrived. Not his fault. Juliet should have -  
  
_ **Click click click.  
  
** Sighing wearily, Castiel turns his head ever so slightly and glances out of the classroom window. The sky looks just like the streets outside, white and fluffy, and the cars are nothing more than white hills in an even whiter surrounding. Everything is snowcapped and if it wasn't for the cold, Castiel would have admitted that winter had beautiful aspects.  _It's Juliet's own fault, actually. Maybe if their parents wouldn't hate each other, the whole story would have ended differently. Shakespeare is stupid, why do we read this? Romeo should simply have married someone else. It's all Romeo's fault, Juliet didn't do anything wrong. What even is 'wrong'?_  
  
 **Clickclickclickclickclickclick.**  
  
That's enough. Castiel whips around and angrily glares at the guy behind him, who's leaning back in his seat and staring up at the ceiling. As he notices that Castiel is looking at him, though, he dips his head the tiny bit it takes for him to lock eyes with Castiel.  
  
"Hi," he mouths, pink lips wrapping around the small word.   
  
"Could you please stop doing that?" Castiel mutters under his breath in order not to disturb anyone. He knows that guy and he'd actually rather have anyone but him making the annoying clicking noise because this is Dean Winchester. Green eyes sparkle mockingly as Dean tips his head back and lets out a contented sigh before circling his broad shoulders as if he'd have all time on earth.  
  
"Please," he says emphatically.  
  
"And why," Dean lets his eyes flick down to Castiel's again and holds him in place with his gaze, "would I do that?"  
  
He's getting more and more frustrated, this guy is even more annoying than his stupid pen. "Because we have about an hour left and I would like to finish my paper in time, so I don't fail the exam and end up as a drop out," he explains as calmly as possible.  
  
Okay, maybe the whole drop out thing is a little over the top considering he has top grades, but Dean doesn't know that much.  
  
"Ah, but wouldn't an F make a nice change in your collection of As?"   
  
Fine, maybe he does know.  
  
"Please, Dean," he sighs and cards a hand through his hair in pure exasperation. Somebody opens one of the windows and a cold blow brushes Castiel's bare neck, making him shudder. "Let me consider it," Dean replies and slowly lets the edge of his pen run over his bottom lip.   
  
"No," he decides then and is about to go back to staring at the ceiling, making clicking noises again, like the dumb kid he is as Castiel explodes.  
  
Castiel never raises his voice at school, always is well-mannered because he wants to become a doctor one day and he needs excellent grades for that, but today the anger boiling inside his groin fills his lungs and he has to let it free out of the fear he might suffocate otherwise.  
  
"Stop. Fucking. Doing. That!" he exclaims, voice shaking with aggravation.  
  
For the first time since Castiel had turned around, Dean gives him his full attention and he nearly regrets shouting at Dean because now he's forced to take in all the stupid details about his face. Like the long, dark lashes brushing over his cheeks as he blinks and the way his soft lips curl into a smug smirk. But Dean Winchester is a total assbutt and just because he's smiling at him doesn't mean Castiel isn't angry anymore.  
  
"Or else what?" Dean counters, biting down on the end of his pen.  
  
"Mr. Winchester! Mr. Novak! Sit back down immediately!" the teacher thunders from behind his desk, where he'd been grading tests for a different class.   
  
Castiel turns back around and mumbles a shy apology. Dean clicks his pen.  
  
"I can't believe it! We're not on the school yard here! Who do you think you are to interrupt the exam, Mr. Novak?" Mr. Prembroke goes on ranting, each word like a slap.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't...I'm sorry."  
  
"And you, Mr. Winchester, need to stop distracting everyone, including Mr. Novak, with that annoying sound!" he rumbles and slams his meaty hand onto the wooden table plate in front of him.  
  
"Whoa there, Mr. P, I didn't do anything here. Cas started distracting  _me,_ " Dean argues and points at him. "Cas?" Castiel repeats, forehead creasing because that's just not his name. Obviously. Everyone has stopped writing and the room is silent apart from three different voices yelling at one another. "I'm sorry, Mr. Prembroke," Castiel eventually says. Dean just snorts and stabs his neck with his stupid pen.  
  
"Dean," Castiel growls and presses his hand against the skin there as if he wanted to suppress the tingle that ran down his spine at the contact.  
  
"Yes, Castiel?" Dean purrs and bats his eyelashes ridiculously suggestively.  
  
"That's far enough from you two! I'm putting you in detention. Both of you, you hear that?" Mr. Prembroke blares and damn near rips out the hair on his fat head. There is a moment of silence before Dean says, "Fine, whatever."  
  
Castiel shakes his head in disbelief and stares back out of the window, the empty sheet on his desk completely forgotten. Never has he ever been put in detention. Never. It was one thing he was sure of it would not happen because he was nice.  
  
"Thanks, Cas," Dean snaps and crumples up his paper. "Don't call me Cas," he mutters and keeps his back towards Dean, eyes fixed at the densely falling snowflakes. The stairs leading up to the entrance door of their school are already covered in white. A sigh escapes him and he rests an elbow on the window sill, trying to ignore the clicking noises behind him.  
  
Suddenly something pushes at the backrest of his chair hard enough to shove Castiel off the edge and he only barely is able to grip the verge of the table plate to keep himself from breaking his nose.  
  
"Out!" Mr. Prembroke yells and then a firm hand tightens around his upper arm and he's dragged towards the door. From the corner of his eye Castiel can tell that Dean has met the same fate. "Now think about your behavior!" their teacher huffs and jostles both boys out of the classroom and into the empty hallway.  
  
As he shuts the door behind him, Castiel can hear him say, "Fucking teenagers."  
  
Dean is chuckling when Castiel faces him again, head tilted back and mouth open as he laughs quietly. "What's so funny, Dean?" Pretending to wipe a tear from his eye, the other boy says, "You've been put in detention."  
  
"That's really hilarious," he deadpans and slumps down against the wall, scowling at Dean. He wishes he could stab him with with just an evil glare, but sadly that only works in books. "We're gonna have so much fun together," Dean predicts and gives a small wink.  
  
"Dick," Castiel mumbles and rises again to get his Biology book from his locker, which is just a few steps from where him and Dean are standing. The number wheel on the steel door ticks as he turns it to unlock the door.  _372..._  
  
"I knew you'd like it," Dean's voice says, way too close for his liking and the warm breath on his neck was definitely not part of the plan when Castiel had gotten up to fetch his freaking book. "Stop talking to me," Castiel snarls and quickly withdraws his book from his locker, swiveling around, just to find himself face to face with Dean.  
  
"You didn't seem to have a problem with me talking to you when you asked me to stop clicking," Dean tells him conversationally as if he wasn't resting both hands on either side of Castiel's head.  
  
"That was," Castiel snorts and ducks away under Dean's arm, "because you've been terribly annoying. And guess what?" He clutches the book a little tighter and starts rushing down the corridor. "You've become even more annoying in the last five minutes."  
  
It's true what people say about Dean. He is annoying. He is arrogant and cocky and maybe he is a tiny bit handsome. Castiel just doesn't understand how everybody, regardless of gender, is falling head over heels for the guy when really he's just a douchebag with a pretty face.   
  
Dean's annoying, stupid laughter echoes in his head as he turns around the corner and hastily enters the restrooms. He would pay a lot of money to be allowed to leave school right now.  
  
  
*  
  
  
During lunch break, Castiel is focussing more on the blizzard raging outside than the fries on his plate.  
  
Out of an instinct, he pulls out his iPhone and opens google.  _Weather forecast darlington wisconsin_ he types quickly and raises a questioning eyebrow at his phone screen as the website is done loading. In bold capital letters the headline **FAMILY SNOWBOUND IN OWN HOUSE** is emblazoned on top of the site, catching his eye immediately.  
  
"Snowbound," Castiel mumbles and shakes his head.  
  
"Cassie," Gabriel hollers and slumps down in the chair across from him, his dinner tray clattering as he slams it onto the table. "Hello, Gabriel," he says, not looking up from his phone. **Heavy snowfall. Extremely low temperatures. A boulder period? Is Wisconsin in danger?** Castiel rolls his eyes.  
  
"Feeling like shit much?" Gabriel asks, stuffing a handful of greasy fries into his mouth, and chews obscenely loudly.  
  
He hums a response and swipes his thumb across the display to get to the weather forecast for the next few days. "Not talking to your brother anymore?" Castiel's counterpart digs deeper. "I'm busy, Gabe," he grumbles, but lifts his head to smile at him.  
  
Castiel doesn't feel like smiling at all when Dean takes a seat next to his brother.  
  
"Cas," he nods at him, "Guy-I-don't-know," he jerks his head in Gabriel's direction. "What?" Castiel asks flatly and lowers his gaze to the phone on his knees again. "Just wondering when detention is." Dean shrugs one shoulder and reaches across the table to snatch a few fries from Castiel's plate.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
The green-eyed asshole simply shrugs again and starts munching Castiel's fries.   
  
"Detention?" Gabriel wants to know, suddenly not joking at all.  _Great._ "Yeah, uhm, nothing really. Just a little thingy in class and yeah. Yeah, detention," Castiel explains, wavering his hand to underline his words. To Castiel's pure horror, his brother shifts in his chair to look at Dean.  
  
"Detention?" he repeats his previous question.  
  
"Oh yes," Dean says and gives a devious grin, "Cas here was busy flirting with me."  
  
"No, I wasn't!" Castiel shouts, glaring angrily at the other boy. Gabriel just lets his eyes wander from Dean to Castiel and then back to the boy sitting next to him.   
  
"Wait. What? My little brother flirting?" he laughs then.  
  
All Castiel wants to do is tear the ground open and throw himself into the fiery pits of hell and die harrowingly. He literally would take any pain over the heat that spreads across his face at Dean's words. But the straw that breaks the camel's back is when Dean leans across the table once more and hums ever so innocently, "Wanna go to detention room together?"  
  
"No, I do not want to go anywhere with you," Castiel bitches and almost falls in his attempt to get out of Dean's reach as quickly as possible.  
  
"Aren't you gonna finish your fries?" Gabriel and Dean ask simoultaneously and while erupting in a guffaw, they highfive.  
  
"Not hungry," Castiel says dryly, "also you two should get married. Okay, bye." As he tosses his leftover fries into the trash can next to the exit door, he believes he can hear his brother tell Dean something about him, but can't get himself to care.  
  
What he really finds interesting, however, is that the snow outside is still falling, giant snowflakes dancing in the cold air like frozen teardrops.  
  
 _Snowbound. Ha. As if.  
  
_ Castiel suffers his way through Physics and Art and by the time everyone except for him, Dean and Mr. Prembroke has left the huge building, a gush of nausea messes with his insides. He doesn't want to think about whether it's because of his empty stomach or because he has to spend two hours with Dean Winchester.  
  
 _It's because I'm hungry, obviously._  
  
Scolding himself inwardly for even considering the other option, he knocks on the door of a room on which in huge red letters "Detention" is written.  
  
"Come on in, hunny," a high voice calls, followed by, "Winchester, keep your mouth shut."  
  
Hesitantly, Castiel pushes the door open and definitely doesn't see the toothy grin Dean flashes at him, he strolls over to the other side of the room and picks a chair as far away from Dean as possible. His teacher shakes his head, but keeps his thoughts serendipitously to himself.   
  
A few minutes pass before Mr. Prembroke speaks.   
  
"Right. So. Detention. You're gonna work on your exam sheets for now and once you've finished - don't forget your wordcount - you can continue by cleaning the bathrooms on the second floor. Got that?"  
  
Castiel nods and nearly hops to his feet to get his paper from the teacher's desk, stumbling along between rows of tables, while Dean groans in frustration and drops his head forward onto his table plate. "Winchester, get the hell up, you're just wasting my time," his teacher tsks.  
  
When Castiel sits back down and furiously starts scribbling the lines he'd come up with during the exam on his paper, a chair on Dean's side of the room creaks and a second later a motion right next to him makes him jump, sheet sliding off the desk and he has to kneel to retrieve it from the floor.  
  
"Hi there," Dean grins.  
  
"Hello, Dean." He rolls his eyes and moves to a seat a row in front of Dean.  
  
With an amused huff, the dickbag with these awfully green eyes follows him and leans over the space between their tables to catch a glimpse at what he'd written so far. "Wait, you think it's Romeo's fault?" he asks then, sounding somewhat puzzled.  
  
"As you can see," Castiel mumbles and is more than tempted to escape Dean again.  
  
"Dude," Dean says as if he couldn't believe what he just heard, "that's so wrong. Romeo killed that weird ass guy, Paris, because he thought he was messing with her tomb. Do you actually think that it's -"  
  
"Winchester. Either you shut up or you're gonna stay here until tomorrow morning," Prembroke sighs deeply.  
  
"Fine, I'm just saying Romeo is a good guy."   
  
Castiel bends slightly over again, pen filling line after line, but all of a sudden his theory doesn't make any sense anymore. What Dean said sounded logical, but there's something missing, something he can't put his finger on, at least for now.  
  
Dean turns out to be able to put his finger on his cheek somewhen during the final conclusion of the essay. The noise he draws from Castiel's lips by doing so is embarrasingly high-pitched and loud enough for Mr. Prembroke to rant and rave for quite a bit.  
  
"Sorry. About. That," Dean drawls as he leans over again.  
  
"Could. You. Please. Stop. Distracting. Me?!" he hisses and presses his pen hard enough into the paper to poke a hole through it.  
  
"Stop getting distracted," Dean teases and one hand disappears from his desk.   
  
"Done!" Castiel exclaims and escapes the warm hand reaching for his arm, pulling his paper down with him as he trips. Their teacher doesn't even look up this time. "There," he breathes as he places the sheet in front of Mr. Prembroke. It's a little crumpled up and there's ink stains and a hole in it, but he managed to finish his essay, wordcount included. A proud 392 is scrawled into the right corner, hardly legible, but he blames that on Dean.   
  
"Good, Mr. Novak. Now, Winchester, done yet?"  
  
"Hold on," Dean mutters and his hand becomes indistinct in front of Castiel's eyes, moving in fluent motions over the paper sheet.   
  
Another three minutes later, Dean rises and carries his essay to the teacher's desk. The collar of his shirt with a band logo Castiel doesn't recognize is uneven and show off bits of tanned skin and collar bones that are more likely to belong to a model than to a High School student in his Junior year.  
  
Still, Dean Winchester is an annoying, arrogant-  
  
An arm wraps around Castiel's waist and he's pulled flush against Dean's side, head uncomfortably bumping into his surprisingly soft shoulder. "Hey, Cas, you wanna clean the toilets?" he singsongs.  
  
"No, I don't want to clean the toilets," Castiel grumbles and swats Dean's arm away, taking a few steps until he's standing next to the door.   
  
Dean pulls a face and punches Castiel's upper arm on his way out. "And stop calling me Cas!" he shouts after Dean, watching his broad-shouldered back disappear behind a corner, followed by Mr. Prembroke, who doesn't even pay attention to their bickering anymore.  
  
Eventually, Castiel makes his way to the second floor himself and finds the other two standing in front of the janitor's closet, Dean's hands already covered by rubber gloves. "Here's a pair for you, too," his teacher says and barely gives him the time to prepare himself to catch the gloves he tosses at him.   
  
"Suits you, how about you put on a hairnet as well?" Dean jokes.   
  
Briefly, Castiel considers saying something like 'Eat me', but that would probably get him another comment and he just wants to go home, really.  
  
"Maybe," he mutters therefore and follows Mr. Prembroke's order to simply wipe off the sinks and toilet bowls.  
  
"Alright, you guys. I'm gonna go now and leave the entrance door open, someone will come lock it later this evening. You are allowed to go home when everything is tip-top and clean. I'll check on how you've done tomorrow morning and if you've done it poorly, you're gonna do that for a week. Got it?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Prembroke," they say in unison.  
  
Dean wipes the first sink reluctantly and takes malicious joy in hitting Castiel occasionally with the wet sponge, but Castiel gets his revenge by  _accidentally_ drizzling a small amount of scouring agent onto the back of Dean's neck. If it wasn't Dean, the squeal he lets out would be what Castiel could call 'cute'.  
  
"I'm gonna leave, not my problem if you listen to Mr. P and play the good school boy," he declares after cleaning the millionth sink, drops his sponge into a bucket and exits gracefully, backpack slung over his shoulder.  
  
"Don't you dare!" Castiel complains and chases after Dean, hands still gloved.  
  
It's dark on the hallway and pretty chilly, probably the heaters have already been turned off as well as the lights.  
  
"Oh would you miss me?" Dean japes and cocks an eyebrow at him as soon as they're neck-and-neck. "How are you so annoying? I just need you to help me clean the toilets, so we can go home."  
  
Slowly, Dean turns around and pins Castiel down, using just his intense eyes. "You know, Cas," he starts and there's absolutely nothing Castiel can do about the finger tracing the curve of his jaw, making him feel a billion degrees too hot in his skin.   
  
An undefinable noise tumbles from his lips as Dean's thumb follows the verge of his bottom lip just to end its way in a small semi-circle on his right cheek. The feeling of a hot palm against his skin, that suddenly is cold as ice and needs the warmth rather desperately, is better than it should be and Castiel keeps telling himself, while struggling against the invisible restraints Dean had put on him with his eyes, that he isn't outright leaning into that calloused hand.  
  
"Stop being so boring," Dean finishes his sentence, turns on his heel and marches down the hallway. Castiel is left behind with a bright blush on his cheeks and hating Dean a little more. When he's picked up enough courage to follow Dean to the exit, messenger bag over his shoulder, Castiel thanks God inwardly that he can leave now and never will have to talk to Dean again.  
  
Which is quite a pleasant thought.  
  
A smile makes its way onto his lips and he feels pretty relieved, even though there's a small nagging burn of guilt in his stomach for not cleaning the bathrooms. Maybe Dean's point of view was better - at least on this topic. On occasion he should ask him about his statement on _Romeo and Juliet_ , but that would be everything.  
  
"Hey, Cas! Didn't Mr. P say someone would come and lock the door later on?" he suddenly can hear Dean's voice.  
  
"Yes, why?" he shouts back.  
  
"When does the front door get locked usually?" comes the reply.  
  
"Around eight, why?"  
  
"I can't seem to open the door, which is weird. It's only seven!" Dean is still yelling by the time Castiel stands beside him, brows drawn together.  
  
"Hilarious, Dean," he scoffs and pushes at the door. Nothing happens. Confused, Castiel grips both door handles and uses all his weight to shove at them. Again, no result. He laughs nervously and looks back at Dean. "Okay, uhm, give me the key, that's not really funny."  
  
Dean stares right back at him, mouth a hard line of pink.  
  
"I don't have any keys. But, Cas, do you think maybe Prembroke locked the door?" the taller boy wants to know. "No, definitely not. Way too lazy," Castiel says, jolting the door knobs.   
  
"Fuck, out of the way," Dean groans and tugs Castiel aside, crashing into the door shoulder-first. Once more nothing happens apart from Dean making a small, pained noise that satisfies Castiel a lot more than he'd ever admit. Karma is a bitch after all.  
  
"Shit. This is bullshit!"   
  
The impish expression on Dean's features has turned into one of utter shock, he'd even gone a little pale.  
  
"Indeed, shit," Castiel whispers weakly as he lets his eyes sweep through the entrance hall of the school and something near the window catches his eye. Wait, no, it's not near, it's  _outside_  the window. It's almost pitch black, every hint of sun swallowed by white snow.  
  
"Dean, how long have we been cleaning the toilets?" he asks hoarsely.  
  
"Dunno, maybe an hour and a half, why?"  
  
"Dean, I-..."  
  
Dropping his backpack to the floor, Dean cuts Castiel off with a loud whistle. "Okay, yeah, I know you can't take your eyes off me, but what the fuck is happening, Cas?"  
  
"I, well, I think," Castiel starts and scratches at the back of his neck, trying to understand what's going on because this can't be real. It just  _can't.  
  
_ Another second passes before Castiel thinks he might be able to speak without stopping from horror.  
  
"Dean, I believe we're snowbound."  
  
"You're kidding me," comes the toneless reply. And Castiel wishes this would be some sick kind of joke because he actually seems to be trapped. At school. Without electricity. Without heaters. Without food. With the biggest douchebag to ever walk on earth, that unfortunately happens to have fucking green eyes and looks pretty damn gorgeous in general - Dean Winchester.  
  
Now, that's just great.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you like it so far? Should I continue writing this?


	2. Still Day 0

The last bit of oxygen that was left is pressed out of Castiel's poor lungs as his back makes contact with the row of lockers behind him.  
  
"This is all your fault," Dean hisses, punctuating each word with a jab of his index finger against his sternum.  
  
And doing so doesn't really help his lungs to pump the desperately needed air into his body again. "Dean," Castiel gasps, slamming his palm against the cool steel of the locker to signal him that he's unable to breathe. Unfortunately, Dean doesn't get the hint and keeps tugging Castiel forward by his collar and pushing him back against the blue steel.  
  
Castiel doesn't really know what it is that makes breathing so unbearably hard, but he strongly suspects it to be the shock.  
  
"Dean, stop," he chokes out.  
  
As Dean finally lets go of his collar, Castiel realizes that he somewhen during the first and 15th time of being smashed into the lockers behind him gripped Dean's upper arms. Hastily, he loosens his grip and takes a few steps away, wrapping one arm around himself.   
  
"Okay, first of all," he breathes heavily, trying to inhale enough oxygen for an entire lifetime, "this is not my fault. Second-"  
  
"Yes, this is your fault. Why did you have to turn around and talk to me? Why?" Dean interrupts him rudely and looks like he's seriously contemplating slamming him back against the wall.  
  
"Well, I really didn't aim for being locked up anywhere with you!" Castiel exclaims, slowly becoming angry because  _does Dean think this is funny?!_  
  
With a loud, frustrated noise, Dean whips around and bangs his fists against the front door.  
  
"Shit," he whispers then.  
  
This one word resonates through the empty hallways as well as Castiel's head and as Dean sinks to his knees and lets his head fall forward, Castiel knows that Dean really is feeling as helpless as he seems. "I'm sorry," he mumbles shyly, and cards a hand through his already messed up hair. "No, no, it's not - I just really need to be home in," Dean quickly glances down at the black watch on his wrist, "five minutes ago. Ain't that great?"  
  
That's when it hits Castiel like a truck. His phone.   
  
Immediately he begins to fiddle with the zipper of his messenger bag, where he'd put the phone after lunch break. Dean gives him a bit of a funny look and purses his lips ever so slightly. "What are you getting all excited about?" he smirks and rests his head on his knees.  
  
Right now, Castiel can't get himself to care whether Dean is being the ultimate dickbag he's made him out to be in his mind, he's too busy unlocking his phone, opening his number pad and dialling 911.   
  
He can see hope shimmer in Dean's eyes and a wide grin spreads across his own face, his cheeks almost burning from how bright he must be smiling.  
  
It toots once. Castiel keeps grinning at Dean, who simply stares back at him. Twice. The stupid grins on their faces remain. Thrice. Slowly, Castiel's smile starts hurting, and not in a good way. All of a sudden something clicks in the line and then there's a voice snarling right into his ear, "There is no such number."  
  
His grin dies in an instant and he's pretty much just glaring at Dean in utter disbelief.  
  
"No," he whispers, hitting recall.  
  
"Cas," Dean says quietly, rising from where he'd been sitting and slowly trudging over to him, his green eyes looking a little predatory, "tell me what the fuck is wrong."   
  
Shaking his head in order to make Dean understand that he needs to be quiet, Castiel lifts the phone to his ear again. This time it doesn't even start tooting, it simply clicks and sizzles in the line. "Shit, shit, shit, no," Castiel hears himself gasp, struggling not to drop the phone as Dean damn near casually intrudes his personal space.  
  
In the top left corner of his phone is a little warning label, making him cringe.  
  
"No," Castiel presses out, staring blankly at the phone screen. A firm grip on his shoulders hauls him cruelly back into reality. "What the fuck is happening, Cas?" Dean shouts into his face, squeezing his poor shoulders even tighter. "I don't...It seems like I'm unable to call anyone, I think the blizzard might have, uhm," he trails off.  
  
Dean's face is so fucking close, close enough that if he wanted, Castiel could easily count those stupid freckles that dapple the skin around his nose, which, on short notice, is barely even an inch apart form his own. Clumsily, Castiel staggers out of the bubble he'd been forced to share with Dean. "I don't," he needs to swallow, "have a signal in here."  
  
"Tell me you're fucking with me, please," Dean growls, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  
  
Castiel's breath does a stupid little hitch at the choice of Dean's words, but he manages to keep his voice conversationally as he says, "I'm serious."   
  
Now Dean tosses his backpack onto the floor, crouching down beside it a second later, and starts rummaging around furiously. "Son of a bitch!" he yells, throwing his Chemistry book down the corridor. Castiel feels slightly awkward, just standing there while Dean goes crazy, emptying his backpack and stuffing half of the stuff back in.  
  
"Oh," Dean makes after a while, picking up a small item from the floor.  
  
Before Castiel can go any further than "what", Dean presses it against his ear and he can put one and one together - It's Dean's phone obviously.  
  
"Sammy! Sammy, are you there? Can you hear me?"   
  
 _Sammy? As in Samantha? I know a Samantha from Art II, is he calling her? I bet she's his girlfriend or something. Whatever, really. Stupid._  
  
"Sammy, hello?" Dean whispers against the plastic of his phone, voice cracking.  
  
Something about the way his voice sounds, soft and quiet and so full of worry, makes Castiel feel sick because as much as Dean Winchester is a dick, there has to be someone out there whom he cares about so much that he's actually having a freak-out right now.  
  
"Dammit, Sammy!"  
  
"Dean?" Castiel calls tentatively.  
  
"No. Shut up, Cas, you need to fucking shut up, I can't hear Sam!" Dean thunders, shooting him an a glare so angry, Castiel thinks the green of Dean's eyes just pierced him like a lance made from jade. Raising his hands as though defending himself, he takes another step back.  
  
"Sammy, Sammy, hello?" Dean says again.  
  
And that's when Castiel realizes that the boy kneeling on the empty hallway in front of him is simply devastated because whoever that Sammy or Sam is - he, she or it, is not responding.  
  
"Dean, Sam can't hear you, the line is-"  
  
"-as dead as you will be if you don't stop fucking talking!" Dean jumps to his feet in one swift movement and allows his phone to keep his Chemistry book company. "You - uh - broke your phone, Dean," Castiel remarks brightly, gesturing at where there's pieces of black plastic on the floor.  
  
"Oh, really?" Dean asks sarcastically and grabs his backpack. "Well, search google for someone to give a fuck."  
  
Lacking a witty thing to say to that, Castiel decides to narrow his eyes and shake his head. "Whatever, Dean," he says, "I just think that we need to talk about this."  
  
When Dean's lips that had been pressed into a tight line quirk upwards into a smirk, he adds, "This here," and points at the door keeping the tons of snow outside. Dean rolls his eyes, presses one flat palm against his chest, gesturing up at the ceiling with the other, and takes in a dramatic position, "Let's wait until the iciness will carry us off and leave our dead bodies behind, nothing but lifeless shells of two people, hating each other not quite that much."  
  
Castiel sighs exasperatingly and leans against the lockers. "Fine, listen. I don't really think anyone's gonna come for us soon-"  
  
"For _you._ People do it all the time for _me_ ," Dean teases and nods his head at him, fixing his gaze on a spot above Castiel. He can  _feel_ the blush creep up his neck and quickly adjusts the strap of his messenger bag, making the collar of his shirt cover his neck more properly.  
  
"So I'm suggesting we make a rough survival plan," he goes on, bluntly ignoring Dean's comment. Speaking the words 'survival plan' out loud makes Castiel feel somewhat ridiculous, but he actually is scared they might be trapped in here for longer than just a few hours. "Sure, make it rough," Dean says, mirroring Castiel's position, leaning against the row of lockers.  
  
"When and what did you last eat?"  
  
It looks like Dean had to bite back another inappropriate comment before he answers, "Your fries, around lunch time."  
  
And that just reminds Castiel that he didn't really eat anything since breakfast this morning, which already is more than 10 hours ago. "Okay, just in case," he drawls, fidgeting uneasily, "do you have anything to eat in your bag?" Dean nods hesitantly, "Yeah, you?"  
  
"Oh, what, uhm, sure," Castiel lies, quickly lowering his gaze to the ground and shrugging lightly.  
  
"Good. I'll be in the library," Dean says and bends down to pick up his phone, "and by the way: It's not broken. Because it's homemade." A proud, little smile lights up his features before he disappears into the adjacent room, waving one hand. Right on cue, Castiel's stomach starts rumbling, a painful reminder.   
  
He manages to play it down, though. Probably the janitor will find them tomorrow and then he could go home and eat one of Gabriel's Frech toasts because they're undeniably the best ones to ever be made. Thinking about food, especially this one, turns out to be a bad idea. Only a minute later, his stomach says hello again.  
  
With a dejected sigh, Castiel glances down at his phone. **7:41 pm.**    
  
Dragging his feet over the floor, Castiel strolls down the hallway and makes his way to the closest bathroom to drink some water from the tap. If he could drink enough water for his stomach to feel full, maybe the night wouldn't be too bad. He would just have to find a place he could sleep at. Which shouldn't be a problem, though he's really not keen on sleeping in a room with Dean.  
  
The water is cold and Castiel can't force more than about five gulps of it down his throat.  
  
 **7:45**  
  
"Great," he mutters under his breath and turns to leave the restrooms again as the someone pushes the door open and he finds himself standing in Dean's personal space.   
  
"Sorry," Castiel mumbles and takes a step to the right just when Dean takes one to the left. He draws his brows together and moves to the left, Dean following suit. "Dude," Dean sighs then, rests his hands on his shoulders and helps Castiel to get past him.   
  
Castiel shakes the hands that had started to burn their way through the fabric of his shirt off. "Hey, Dean, where are you gonna sleep?"  
  
"Want to keep me company?" the other boy jokes.  
  
"No. I was just trying to be polite and pick a different room," Castiel explains, rolling his eyes in a way Dean can see it.   
  
"Probably the library," Dean says then.  
  
"Good. Okay."  
  
They stare at one another for a few seconds, blue trying to wrestle down green and vice versa, before Dean takes a step back, but holds Castiel's glare. His hands move down his own sides, slowly wandering to his belt buckle. Castiel only realizes what's happening as he tears his eyes off Dean's face.  
  
"You're gonna stay for the show?"   
  
At lightning speed, Castiel whips around and paces down the hallway. He's grateful that Dean's laughter is set to a sudden end by the door closing behind him.  
  
  
For a while, Castiel just sits with his back against the cool steel behind him, head tipped back, and thinks.  _There has to be a way out. The backdoor? No, it gets locked after lunch break. The windows? Probably not, breaking my bones is not not really a price I'd like to pay. A ladder? Great, joke's on me, they're in the gym. Fucking awesome.  
  
_ As he finally comes to the conclusion that as much as he hates it, Dean and him are trapped at school for the night, Castiel gets up, grabbing his messenger bag, and goes to pick out an empty classroom to sleep in.  
  
He chooses the room furthest away from the library that's still on the same floor, though, in case of any kind of emergency.  
  
Even though he doesn't really expect Dean to come to him when there's something wrong. He rather expects him to deal with whatever it is on his own. Dean just seems to be the guy to do that. Castiel shakes his head.  _When did I start thinking about Dean like I knew him? Right. I don't know him and I don't_ want  _to know him.  
  
_ Castiel moves four tables together until they are looking like a platform on which he puts his bag and jacket. "Shit," he sighs as he can see the snow still falling outside, huge snowflakes that excruciatingly tell him that he's powerless. And food-less.  
  
Thinking about his empty stomach won't help at all, so he decides to go to sleep early. What does it matter that it's only barely 8 pm? It's not like he had anything else to do. Using his messenger bag as makeshift pillow, Castiel climbs onto his platform, shifting until his head is rested on the bag as comfortable as it will go and he's staring at the ceiling.  
  
The silence is weighing him down, but he's quite happy he doesn't have to put up with Dean's comments. And his annoying, stupid, gravelly voice. Especially when he calls him this weird nickname.  
  
"Hey, Cas."  
  
 _See? It's stupid._  
  
Groaning, Castiel opens his eyes and turns his head to peer over at the door. "Are you sleeping?" Dean asks cautiously, tapping two fingers against the doorframe.   
  
"Yes, I'm not awake. Please go away, Dean," he grumbles and closes his eyes again.  
  
The next thing he can hear is the sound of boots on linoleum, but they're not moving in the right direction. Instead of dying away, they're becoming louder until, all of a sudden, they stop. But then there's a hand pushing at his shoulder, hot and firm.  
  
"What?"   
  
"Move," Dean demands and walks around the tables to shove Castiel's legs off the edge. "Dean," Castiel complains and swings his legs off the edge slowly, "what do you want?"  
  
The other boy shoots him an angry glare, but doesn't say anything for a couple of seconds. Then he holds out an energy bar, flashing a lopsided grin. "You don't have anything to eat, do you, Cas?" There it is again. This stupid name that's not his.  
  
"W-wait. I uhm," Castiel begins to stammer, utterly surprised, but Dean cuts him off.   
  
"Just take it."  
  
And Castiel does, tentatively reaching out at first as if he was scared Dean might pull it away any second, then his fingers close around the wrapping paper.  
  
"Thanks," he mutters reluctantly.  
  
"Yeah," Dean hums around a bite of his own energy bar. "How did you-" But Dean holds up a finger to keep him from saying anything else. "Maybe you don't wanna know that," he grins and takes another bite.  
  
Hating Dean Winchester would be so easy if it wasn't for moments like these.  
  
  
Half an hour later, Dean leaves again, playfully winking as he exits the room, and the tiny place where his shoulder had been brushing against Castiel's on occasion while both boys had been eating their energy bars in silence is left cold behind.  
  
Castiel doesn't fall asleep until way after midnight and as sleep finally lulls him, he dreams of piles of snow burying Dean alive and that makes him believe he still can hate him.  
  
At least that's what Castiel keeps telling himself.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you like it? /).(\


	3. Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean actually likes Romeo and Juliet, Castiel learns to hate Shakespeare's quotes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry the update took forever, but I've been working on my other fic and yeah.

Castiel twitches uneasily.  
  
There's something brushing the bare skin of his neck, then moving to his upper arm and finally that something stops at his wrist. It feels like a feather but rougher, like it was a rusty steel wire scraping at his skin. He's still caught up in his dream, but he definitely can sense that something.  
  
He feels warm, but his back is cold as if someone had poured cool water into the back of his shirt and it now was trickling down his spine.  
  
As Castiel feels a hand on his shoulder, he groans and turns his head away, grumbling unhappily. It's way too early for him to get up; this probably is Gabriel messing with him. School isn't starting until 8 after all and-  
  
"Wake up, sunshine."  
  
That's definitely  _not_ his big brother's voice right next to his ear.  
  
With a suprised noise, Castiel opens his eyes and finds himself unable to breathe because  _what the fuck_ is Dean Winchester's face doing inches away from his own. He can count his stupid freckles, regardless of how much he wants to just get away from this guy. There are exactly four freckles on the bridge of Dean's nose, a perfectly straight line of tiny dots of light-brown.  
  
"Dean," he hears himself say. His heart seems to be beating in his head, it throbs angrily with every pulse. And because his heart has replaced his brain, there's hot blood flooding his veins, but every single one of them apparently leads to his stomach.  
  
Everything is too hot.  
  
"Yes, Cas?" Dean mumbles, still not moving away. Castiel dooms himself for being unable to withdraw himself from Dean, who must have climbed onto the platform of tables while he'd been asleep. "Dean," Castiel repeats, his hands twitching restlessly with the urge to shove Dean off him. Or be fisted in the back of his shirt. He can't really tell.  
  
Castiel can feel Dean's knee move up along the inside of his legs. "Dean."  
  
He hates the way his voice sounds, confused and sleepy and so goddamn  _helpless._ What even is going on? And why doesn't Dean say anything? When Dean leans down a little further, Castiel really wants to die. Slowly, one of his hands finds its way into Dean's hair and holds onto the soft strands, tugging ever so gently.  
  
Tension is sizzling between them, electrifying the air in the room.  
  
Pink lips move, form words in front of Castiel's face, but he can't hear what Dean is saying because of the loud beat of his heart inside his skull.  _Get off of me. Stop touching me. Dean, stop._ The words don't come. Instead, "Dean." Just his name again, whispered into what's left of the space between their mouths. Castiel feels the fingers of Dean's right hand slip under his back, hoisting his hips until they make contact with Dean's.   
  
"Give in," Dean whispers.  
  
His fingertips are burning the skin of his back like cigarette stubs. "Dean," is the last thing he manages to get out before his body moves of its own accord and closes the distance to the other boy's lips.  
  
Dean tastes like winter, sweet like gingerbread and cinnamon, but there's something odd about it, like Castiel knows that taste, but he can't wrap his mind around it. He thinks it's him who moans, or maybe it's Dean. Everything becomes blurry and Castiel spirals into the sky from the intensity of the kiss before he comes crashing down like a shot bird.  
  
Literally.  
  
  
"Morning, sunshine," Dean grins.  
  
Drowsily, Castiel blinks up at him from the floor and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Dean?" he asks, puzzled, and keeps staring at the boy leaning against the doorframe of the classroom.   
  
"Comfortable down there?" Dean asks back and flashes a lopsided smirk.   
  
Castiel squints at him, glances up at where his bag and jacket are laid out on the tables and finally allows his eyes to briefly dart down to his own pants. There is no way in hell that just happened.   
  
He did  _not_ dream about kissing that asshole.  
  
"Slept well?" Dean keeps digging, not even trying to hide the amusement that's resonating in his voice. While shifting onto his knees and hoping there's no obvious evidence of his more than embarrassing dream, Castiel shakes his head.   
  
"Did someone come for us, yet?" he mutters and simply ignores the painful twitch in his stomach telling him that he's hungry. A soft sigh falls from Dean's lips and that's all Castiel needs to hear. "Cas, I need to get out of here," Dean suddenly says, his voice coming out strained and shaking, and as Castiel turns his head to look at him, his broad shoulders are tensely drawn up.  
  
"I know, Dean, we both do," he replies, cocking an eyebrow.  
  
Looking at Dean is really hard considering he had a rather inappropriate dream about him, but Castiel still manages to hold his glare. "You don't understand, Cas, I need to be home. Sam needs something to eat."   
  
"Dean, we need something to eat, too," he bluntly tells him. He doesn't care whether he sounds rude, but the fact that Dean keeps talking about this Sam without even telling him who it is makes him incredibly angry. They might be trapped at school together, but that doesn't have to mean they need to tell each other their life stories. Or anything at all apart from where the hell they're going to get something to eat from.  
  
"Cas," Dean growls and takes a step into the room, "you don't understand. I  _need_ to feed Sam."  
  
Anger bubbles inside Castiel's stomach and as he speaks, his voice comes out louder than he intended. "It's not like I can do anything about the situation. And neither can you. So unless you can, would you please  _shut up_?" That just vexes Dean more and he outright yells, "My little brother needs to fucking eat, Cas!"  
  
All of a sudden, it's completely silent in the room, neither of them is even breathing. They're just standing in front of one another, trying to stare the other down, their shoulders squared. Puffs of breath mingle between them and for a split second Castiel's eyes are drawn to Dean's lips.  
  
He's not entirely sure whether the fact that they had been way more tempting in his dream is supposed to calm or concern him.  
  
And as Dean's fingers dig into his shoulders and shove him backwards, Castiel somehow wishes he'd kept his mouth closed, at least this one time. When the edge of a table bumps into his lower back, he makes a noise of disapproval, but Dean mercilessly forces him to take one step after the other. It's not like Castiel was compliant and not struggling against the other boy, but he's simply powerless against Dean.  
  
"Dean, stop!"   
  
If Dean continues doing this, it will only be a few seconds until they both crash into the window. Whatever Castiel might have hoped for, it doesn't happen. As predicted his back is slammed against the glass of the window with such force he can't breathe. Something cracks noisily and Castiel honestly can't tell whether it was a bone in his back or the window. A sharp pain runs down his spine, making him gasp in shock as he finally can breathe again.   
  
The window, on the other hand, looks worse than Castiel feels.  
  
Apparently, Dean hasn't only shoved Castiel against the window but one of the tables standing around as well and now it looks like it might give in any second from the tons of snow pressing against it from the outside. "Shit, Cas," Dean suddenly says, lifting one hand up to reach behind his neck.   
  
"No, Dean," Castiel whimpers, jerking back. There's no space left behind him, so he bumps into the window again, even though with way less speed than before. A loud, pained outcry leaves his lips and Castiel thinks he might actually black out from the agony that makes itself felt above his left shoulder blade. "Cas, godfuckingdammit!" Dean curses and pulls him away from the window.  
  
His left shoulder is on fire, but he honestly doesn't know if the heat there is coming from some sort of injury or from Dean's fingers tugging on his shirt. "Hey, hey, Dean," Castiel objects and desperately attempts to push the other boy's arm away, but Dean just rolls his eyes.   
  
"One," Dean suddenly says.  
  
"Wait, Dean, what?"  
  
"Two."  
  
Castiel sucks in a breath as Dean digs something painfully sharp into his shoulder, almost twisting it inside his flesh and teasing another cry of pain from him. "Three." Before Castiel can do so much as breathe in, Dean pulls his hand away in one jerky movement and the pang increases.   
  
When he opens his eyes, which he must have screwed shut somewhen between two and three, Castiel finds himself staring at a bloody shard. "My bad," Dean apologizes and skillfully tosses it into the trash can next to the teacher's desk.  
  
"But look at this," he continues and gently nudges Castiel's side to get past him and closer to the window, "I can touch it."  
  
Dean hesitantly drags the tip of his index finger over the shattered glass, which, by the way, is still doing a damn good job at staying in place, and stops at the small hole where the shard that's now discarded had been. "Hey, look, I can touch the snow," Dean chuckles and wriggles his finger into the pile of white outside.  
  
Castiel instinctively flinches and he has to swallow thickly, eyes fixed on Dean's hand.  
  
That dickbag has somehow managed to force a second finger outside without cutting himself on the sharp edges, lip worried between his ridiculously straight teeth. When the window cracks dangerously loudly, Dean quickly glances up, but keeps pushing at the thin glass until another few shards break away and land next to his feet.   
  
"Hey, Cas?"  
  
"What?" he snaps, reaching over his shoulder to touch the place the shard had stuck. As Castiel looks down at his hand a second later, it's bloodstained.   
  
"Wanna make a bet?" Dean grins. Three of his fingers have been touching the snow so far, looking unhealthily red now.   
  
While watching the other boy blow warm air onto his hand to warm it up at least a little, Castiel raises a questioning brow. He doesn't like bets. Never did. And if Dean Winchester wants to make a bet, there has to be a catch, it's literally written in the stars.  
  
"Depends," he answers cautiously and his attempt to cross his arms fails miserably.  
  
"I bet you a blowjob I can get my whole fist outside."  
  
For a second, Castiel loses the ability to breathe and think straight, which probably is the reason why he hears himself ask, "What?" And because Dean is and will remain an assbutt, he lifts one hand to the level of his cheek, balls it into a fist and bulges out his cheek with his tongue.   
  
Grieviously offended, Castiel narrows his eyes and tilts his head. "No!"  
  
"Are you declining because you know that I'd win and don't want me to or because you don't wanna get that mouth of yours dirty?" Dean asks serenely. Honestly, this is not going anywhere near comfortable for Castiel. "I don't - what - you'll only hurt yourself," he avoids answering the question.  
  
An amused expression creeps across Dean's features and he lowers his hand to the hole in the window once more, twisting three fingers outside by crooking them upwards to push some of the snow away. The whole thing looks way more sexual than necessary and Castiel wishes very much Dean would stop torturing him. "You're not gonna get your whole fist out and, just for your information, I'm not taking the bet, so you can stop," he tells him, shifting uncomfortably because Dean's fingers are still moving.  
  
But Dean doesn't even listen, he angles his wrist slightly and all of a sudden, his arm is buried to the elbow in snow, white coolness to the green of Dean's eyes.  
  
"What a shame you didn't take the bet," Dean says and his voice sounds even more gravelly than usual. It's becoming harder and harder for Castiel not to imagine Dean's fingers doing something inappropriate. A second later, though, they really have other things to worry about.  
  
The snow has finally added enough pressure to break the glass entirely and is now threatening to snow Dean under, and even though Castiel doesn't completely dislike the thought, he lurches forward to pull the other boy away. Before he can grab Dean's arm, though, he's spun around and pushed face-first in the pile of white.  
  
"Dean!" he screeches, writhing and trying to move back, but as he pulls away just the slightest, Castiel is abruptly stopped by a leg. Dean's leg. That definitely is a muscled thigh lined up right against his ass and keeping him in place and although his face hurts from the iciness, Castiel is grateful Dean can't see his blush.  "Dean, please - Hey, ouch, Dean, stop," he complains as he can feel snow on his neck, melting on his skin and running down his spine excruciatingly slowly.   
  
Castiel's cheeks are seriously burning from both the cold and the embarrassment of being at Dean Winchester's mercy.  
  
The next fistful of snow does not land where Castiel had expected it to. A warm hand tugs the shirt away from his stomach and a moment later a second hand joins the party, rubbing snow over his chest and lower abdomen.   
  
"I hate you," Castiel whines, squirming frantically to get out of the tight embrace of Dean's arms around his middle, hands still spreading the snow over his chest. "Dean, let go of m-  _nrgh,_ " Castiel gasps, fingers instinctively clenching around where he'd been tugging on Dean's arms.  
  
"What was that?" Dean chuckles and stops moving his hands, which has the bit of snow that's left constantly pressing against Castiel's nipples. "Take your - shit, Dean, please!" Dean's hands linger for a split second longer and as he finally withdraws them, Castiel can't help the shaking sigh that leaves his lips.   
  
There are wet stains on his shirt now, evidence for Dean's more than unwelcome intrusion in his tee. "You're welcome," Dean chuckles and steps back, so Castiel can stumble out of the pile of snow to his feet. "You're an asshole," Castiel mumbles and marches out of the room, not looking back once.  
  
  
*  
  
He's so close. So fucking close, but it's not quite enough.   
  
"Fuck," he groans, twisting his arm even more until he's not sure whether he can move another inch without dislocating his shoulder. The adhesive end of his plaster is sticking to the pad of his thumb and the wound dressing simply won't do what Castiel wants it to. It keeps slipping out of position and the fact that he has to tug the collar of his shirt down with his other hand doesn't really facilitate his endeavor.  
  
"Am I interrupting?" Dean's voice suddenly sounds and he reflexively lets go of his collar.   
  
"Yes, you are if it hadn't been obvious enough," Castiel snarls and angrily kicks his bag, crumpling up the plaster. "Oh, by the way, this is the last plaster I have, so could you please stop distracting me?" he goes on and takes a new plaster out of his jeans pocket.  
  
Instead of leaving the room, Dean plants himself in front of Castiel.   
  
"Then why do you let yourself get distracted?" Dean retorts. Castiel doesn't bother responding, he just goes back to trying to put the plaster on the wound. The other boy watches him for a while, occasionally snorting in amusement, before he sighs, "Give it to me."  
  
Castiel's hand freezes in place, the sticky end dangerously close to his shoulder. "What?" he chokes out hoarsely.  
  
"The plaster, Cas, just give it to me."  
  
Reluctantly, Castiel hands Dean the plaster and bends over slightly so Dean has better access to his shoulder. "What the fuck are you doing?" is the reaction. As Castiel looks up, Dean is no longer in front of him but has stepped to stand behind the desk Castiel is sitting on.   
  
The plaster keeps Castiel company when Dean uses both hands to pull Castiel's shirt up to his shoulders, pushing at his neck lightly. "Hey, Dean, just - just move the collar a little, you don't have to exactly-"  
  
"Take it off."  
  
"That's not even necessary," Castiel argues and nudges Dean's hand away with his shoulder, but doing so has the rough material of his shirt brushing against the wound and he has to bite back a whimper. "Just do it," Dean demands and helps him to slip the shirt over his head once he lifts his arms.   
  
It somewhat irks Castiel that he can't see Dean's face, but at least he can see his hand as he reaches forward to retrieve the plaster from the table plate.   
  
A second later he can feel the wound dressing on the small cut in his shoulder and then Dean brushes his hand over the area there gently. "Thank you," Castiel mutters and wants to slide off the desk or maybe keep sitting there and have Dean leave, but Dean places his right hand on his other shoulder, squeezing lightly. "What?" he asks slyly.  
  
 _As if he didn't hear me._  
  
"I said thank you," Castiel repeats and twists his shoulder, wriggling out of Dean's grip.   
  
The silence between them is awkward and no one says a word until Castiel's phone buzzes noisily in his pocket. "Oh fuck," Dean breathes, eyes suddenly wide and shimmering with hope.  
  
With trembling fingers he pulls the phone out and unlocks the screen just to feel his stomach droop.  
  
"What? What is it, Cas?" Dean wants to know, impatient, and presses himself against his side to sneak a peek at the phone screen. "Oh," he says then. All that's visible is a window that popped up, announcing that Castiel should immediately connect the phone to a charger to keep using it.  
  
"You don't have one, do you?" Dean asks and Castiel shakes his head slowly, shoving the now useless piece of technology back into his jeans. "Crap," both boys curse simultaneously.  
  
Another minute passes before Dean raises his voice once more. "Do you have anything to eat?"  
  
"Very funny, Dean, I haven't had something yesterday, where should I've gotten anything from? Sure, I've teleported to Walmart while you've been asleep. What did you expect me to say?" He rolls his eyes pointedly at Dean.  
  
What he expected was a mean comment, maybe Dean pushing him lightly, but he didn't expect him to simply stoop, pick up Castiel's messenger bag and empty its content onto the floor. His calculator cracks alarmingly, but seems to be okay. Nowhere between the small pile of books and papers is a single thing to eat - just like Castiel had told him.  
  
It's not like there was a whole lot to clean up now, but the fact that Dean emptied his bag without his consent makes Castiel angry enough to jump to his feet and rush out of the room, still shirtless.  
  
On his way down the corridor to the library he can hear Dean following him and shouting his name, but he just keeps walking. Dean's backpack is slung over the backrest of a chair, the zipper already open and the edge of a book peeking out.  
  
"Well, or maybe you have something to eat in  _your_ bag," Castiel growls and grabs the black backpack.  
  
"No, Cas, wait!" Dean warns him, raising one hand, which he first balls into a fist in his hair and then covers his eyes with as if he couldn't stand seeing Castiel touch his properties. "Why would I?" he snaps. "Because, uh, I'm just - no, Cas, please, oh no," Dean stutters, but it's too late.  
  
Castiel turns the backpack upside down and watches with malicious joy how Dean's school supplies land on the floor, followed by earbuds, an empty bubble gum wrapper and - No.   
  
There are no words to describe the way this item makes Castiel feel. He kind of wants to laugh, kind of would like to tease Dean about it and - even though he hates to admit it - kind of is slightly aroused. "Why, Dean?" is what eventually comes out of his dry mouth.  
  
Dean just shrugs apologetically, kneels down and begins to put his stuff, including the small bottle of lube, back into his bag. "You never know," he explains then, tossing the rucksack back onto the chair. Castiel doesn't know how to reply.  
  
"We still need something to eat," Dean finally states and right on cue Castiel's stomach rumbles embarrassingly loudly.   
  
"And we need to get out of here."  
  
"Or find a way to survive this without starving today," Dean sighs and exits the room without further explanation. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Castiel shouts and jogs to catch up with Dean, who has started making his way to the big double door seperating the lunch room from the rest of the school building.   
  
"Maybe someone has left a few sandwiches in the fridge behind the counter," he tells Castiel as they pass through the door. As predicted, the lights don't flicker on when they take a few steps into the large room. "Maybe," he nods and follows Dean to check out the shelves.  
  
"Nothing here," Castiel announces after a minute. "Same here," comes the unhappy reply.  
  
This really is anything but fortunate.  
  
He can hear Dean's boots on the linoleum floor, departing gradually. “Hey, Cas, guess what!” he shouts then and a clatter from somwhere near the door follows his words, making Castiel jump. “What?” he asks, crouching down to survey the small cabinet underneath the sink. “I found something,” Dean says and this time it sounds like he’d returned from wherever he’d been.  
  
“Really?” A low rumble of his stomach just makes his enthusiasm about the mention of food plain.  
  
“Really,” Dean confirms and taps his shoulder with his finger.  
  
Castiel is right in the middle of turning his head towards Dean as his chin is firmly gripped and held in place. A second before Dean’s other palm covers his eyes he believes to see something yellow in his hand, but he can’t be entirely sure since he’d just gotten a glimpse at it.  
  
“Open up wide,” Dean demands and pokes Castiel’s lip with something he can’t define.  
  
Why is it that the green-eyed asshole just has to touch him and he gets all motionless and compliant, just taking everything? His jaw drops open and Castiel honestly can’t remember doing that.  
  
“Here.” Dean pops something hard into his mouth and at first Castiel strongly suspects him of simply having fed him a piece of plastic, but then he can taste the salt. “Fries?” he mumbles around the potato stick. “Mhm,” Dean hums and slips another two fries between Castiel’s still parted lips, thumb brushing a crumb away from the corner of his mouth.  
  
That’s the exact moment Castiel realizes what’s going on. In one sudden movement, he scoots backwards, spitting out the half-eaten fries, and glares angrily at the other boy. “Where did you get these from?”  
  
“Trash can,” Dean answers and clicks his tongue at the sight of the disgorged fries.  
  
“That’s unhygienic,” Castiel complains, kicking the fries away with the tip of his shoe and screwing his face up in disgust, “I mean, do you have any idea what else had been in that trash can, Dean?”  
  
While Dean licks his fingers clean, he peers over at him. “Uh huh. Three tissues, one empty coke bottle and a condom.”  
  
Castiel wants to throw up. Right now. Maybe onto Dean’s pants because this is his fault. His stomach feels like it’s doing somersaults, and definitely not the good kind. It’s the shit-I-want-to-puke kind.  
  
A part of him has given up all hope, but then Dean bursts out in a hearty laugh that might be infectious if he wouldn’t feel so sick.  
  
“Jesus, you should have seen your face,” Dean wheezes and tilts his head back, his body convulsed by the contractions of his midriff. “That’s not funny, Dean,” he grouses, but before the sentence is out entirely, Dean has started laughing even harder.  
  
“Right,” he agrees as he eventually calms down, “it’s hilarious.”  
  
“Have fun eating those.” Castiel rises and gets ready to quickly go and put his shirt back on. A chill runs down his spine and he frowns, glaring down at Dean. “Hey, is that just me or did it really get cooler in here?”  
  
“Dude, you’re shirtless, I wonder why you’re freezing,” Dean replies around a mouthful of fries, which makes Castiel pull a face. “Fine, be an ass,” he pouts and leaves Dean to eat those disgusting fries alone in the lunch room.  
  
Five hours later, however, Castiel finds himself languidly flipping through the pages of _Moby Dick_ and regretting not having eaten the fries when he still had the chance to. Dean is seated across from his, drumming an unnerving rhythm on the table with his fingertips and humming a melody Castiel doesn’t recognize. Probably it’s a dumb song anyway.  
  
“What are you reading?” Castiel asks, not because he actually cares, but because the silence just makes the drumming seem louder than it already is.  
  
“Romeo and Juliet,” Dean answers brusquely.  
  
An awkward quiet descends over the library and at some point Castiel notices he’s not even paying attention to the printed letters on the pages in front of him but watching Dean’s fingers play with the corner of his book.  
  
“You know, as weird as that sounds, I kinda like some of the stuff Shakespeare wrote,” Dean suddenly declares, thumbing through the pages as if he was looking for a certain paragraph. “Really?” Castiel broaches the subject again. “Yeah,” Dean means and lets his eyes sweep up at him.  
  
In an instant, Castiel’s throat is dry and he has to diguise the surprised little gasp with a cough. Could he possibly have been more obvious?  
  
“Do you have a favorite line?” Dean wants to know, resting his chin in his hand and going back to skimming the pages.  
  
Squinting at Dean, Castiel leans back in his chair and responds, “ _A fool’s paradise._ I don’t know, I just really like the simplicity of the sentence, you know?” The corners of Dean’s mouth twitch, but apart from that his expression doesn’t change.  “What’s yours?” Castiel asks, slowly trudging over to the closest book shelf and putting _Moby Dick_ back into its place between _Ulysses_ and _Men Without Women._  
  
He doesn’t hear Dean stand up and he also doesn’t notice the palm next to his head until he twirls around to sit across from him again. “Dean?” he stammers, widening his eyes at the sudden intrusion in his personal space.  
  
“ _Thus with a kiss_ -“  
  
Before Castiel even can inhale to say something, Dean dips his head, his hand tilting Castiel’s chin up slightly, and presses a hard kiss to his mouth. Dean’s lips are softer than expected and for an infinitesimal moment Castiel revels in the feeling of being pressed up against the bookcase.  
  
Everything happens in a blink.  
  
The way Dean’s hands cup his face, the feeling of a hot body against his chest and then the swipe of a tongue along his lower lip. There are strong hands on his waist, hauling him closer, and it shouldn’t feel as good as it does. Castiel’s head is swimming and even though his brain is screaming at the top of its lungs to push the other boy off, his hands only barely manage to find their way up to Dean’s shoulders.  
  
And before he can get his limbs to obey him, his fingers are holding onto Dean’s shirt just a little too tightly.  
  
As he finally finds the strength to shove Dean away, he’s breath comes out ragged and staccato, perfectly reflecting the way he’s feeling. He’s confused and angry and still a little lightheaded because, shit, it was a great kiss.  
  
“- _I die_ ,” Dean ends his sentence and turns around, a satisfied grin on his kiss-swollen lips.  
  
Castiel wipes the back of his hand across his mouth repeatedly, trying his very best to ignore Dean’s taste on his moist lips. “That was really unnecessary, Dean.” But the other boy just sits back down at the table, picking up his book, and waves it at Castiel.  
  
“I just turned you into a living quote.”  
  
Clenching his hands into fists, Castiel marches over to where Dean is sitting, snatches the booklet from his hands and tosses it down the aisle. “Just – just don’t do it again.”  
  
“What?” Dean wants to know, “Kiss you or use a quote on you?”  
  
For a moment Castiel hesitates and ponders about what answer could spare him another discussion with Dean. “Both,” he says then.  
  
When he whips around and marches out of the library, he can hear Dean call after him, “ _Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”_  
  
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” Castiel shouts back and slams the door to the art room he’d selected as new sleeping place shut.  
  
For some reason he still can feel the tingling feeling of lips on lips, it’s like Dean was still kissing him, still pressing his fingers into the sensitive skin above his hipbones.  
  
Just to make sure Dean didn’t actually leave any kinds of marks behind, Castiel lifts the hem of his shirt. No marks to be seen, but all of a sudden the image of Dean holding his hips without a layer of clothes seperating skin from skin – No.  
  
This is not what’s going to happen. What’s going to happen is that they’re gonna stay alive until someone rescues them – and that someone should really hurry up because now Castiel’s stomach is prostesting again, growling angrily – and then never talk to each other again if possible.  
  
 _Shit, serious shit. I hate Shakespeare.  
  
_ Castiel’s stomach keeps him awake for a while, telling him that he really needs to eat. The somersaults it’s making aren’t really helping either. But at least they aren’t the good kind.  
  
They’re the what-the-fuck-I-hate-that-asshole kind.  
  
 _Of course they are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update might take a while again because school's starting on Monday, which means new schedule and all that crappy crap.


	4. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it keeps getting colder and colder and body heat is much needed in times like this c:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUUUUGE APOLOGIES TO EVERYONE I KEPT WAITING FOR SOOOO LONG BUT SCHOOL AND LIFE AND YEAH. SORRY.

Heat.  
  
It's so fucking hot under his clothes.  
  
Castiel is laying curled up on his side beneath the heater, back pressed tightly against the cold metal to feel the warmth that eventually would  _have_ to return, but even without electricity his body is superheated.  
  
Dreams have put chains on him, chains in form of kisses from pink lips, broad hands pressing his hips into the hard wood of the bookcase in the library and the way Dean had way too easily made every thought drain from his brain with his body alone.  
  
He's back in that room with Dean, but watching the scene displayed from somewhere high above, and even though he's yelling at the top of his lungs at his other self to push that asshole off, the Castiel being kissed doesn't hear him. Either that or he's way too busy dragging his nails down Dean's back and desperately tugging on his shirt.   
  
His breath starts hitching and he arcs his back, allowing Dean to force a leg in between his thighs with a tiny sound of approval.  
  
"Don't!" he screams, but what follows his words is not what Castiel had wanted.  
  
Because the next thing he knows is that Dean is pinning his other self's wrists to the bookcase and draws sinful noises from his parted lips by grazing his teeth against the sensitive skin of his neck.  
  
Those dreams need to stop.  
  
"Dean," Castiel can hear his own voice, needy and ragged, from far below. He wishes to reach out and save himself from the sweet sin he's overindulging in, but he's simply powerless against eyes that green.  
  
And then there's the bitter awakening, eyelids weakly twitching.  
  
The first thing Castiel notices is that it's a whole lot cooler in the classroom he's chosen to spend the night in than it had been the evening before. The second thing all too suddenly appearing to him is even less pleasant and that's the strain of the denim of his jeans in places he really would like to stop thinking about. Especially with that goddamn  _dream_ still so vivid in his mind.  
  
His jacket, which he'd wrapped around himself for the night, is feeling clammy and actually sort of stiff and just this one time Castiel is jealous of Dean because he full well knows about the thick inner lining of his leather jacket.  
  
A loud rumble of his neglected stomach hauls him cruelly back into present time and Castiel somehow picks up his energy from the ground and manages to leave the classroom to at least get that disgusting taste out of his mouth by drinking a few gulps of water from the tap.  
  
"God," he groans, pressing his hands against his lower groin and rubbing small circles to distract himself.  
  
The walk to the bathroom turns out to be far more complicated with that fucking completely redundant erection pressing against his zipper. It's not like Castiel would consider jerking off in the school bathroom, even more so since he's afraid Dean's face might flash up behind his closed eyelids at some point.  
  
And the whole cause of his trouble is that stupid kiss.  
  
Besides, he's still far from forgiving Dean for, first, injuring him, second, feeding him those disgusting fries he's craving to eat so bad right now and, third, for kissing him. Maybe it sounds stupid, but the thoughts haven't stopped at all. They keep floating through his skull and flood his mind with images.  
  
Ever since his phone has given up entirely since yesterday somewhen at night, Castiel has lost every sense of time and simply has to assume it's around 11 in the morning.  
  
He stays in the bathroom longer than needed, blankly staring into the cracked mirror above the sink and pressing one hand down on his crotch, hissing unders his breath at the perfect amount of friction. _Maybe I could just..just a tiny bit more as long as Dean is not awake and - No._ With a sudden rush of determination sweeping through his chest, Castiel pinches the skin of his wrist and twists forcefully.  
  
 _Now go and search the building for food._ His feet carry him down the corridor, blue lockers to either side of him, and Castiel feels like he's losing his mind because, shit, every single piece of plastic is a bag of something to eat at first glance.  
  
Five minutes later, however, his brain seems to have decided to turn _"go and search for food"_ into  _"go and wake up Dean"_ and Castiel finds himself standing in front of the door to the library all dressed up and with nowhere to go, fist raised as though he wasn't quite sure whether to knock. "Dean?" he calls tentatively and for just a split second he's scared the other boy might have frozen to death.  
  
"Dean?"  
  
Taking the overdue answer as an invitation, Castiel pushes the door open, lets his eyes quickly sweep through the room to spot Dean's sleeping place and - freezes.  
  
Big fucking mistake.  
  
Dean is sitting on the same chair like yesterday night, but right now his head is hanging back, mouth open in a silent moan of pleasure, and his right hand is loosely wrapped around - Castiel thinks he might actually have a minor stroke just then. With small flicks of his wrist, Dean guides his hand up and down his cock, partly hidden by his spreaded thighs.  
  
And for a moment, Castiel is thunderstruck and actually sort of dazed because Dean lets out a small, pleased sigh and lazily thrusts up his hips.  
  
He's aware he should be saying something, making Dean notice him, but Castiel's legs have fucking started trembling and his arms feel pretty much like jelly, too, and his cheeks are on fire and maybe he should leave and pretend to not have seen anything, but he can't move and - Dean moans.  
  
It's a deep and throaty groan that runs all the way down Castiel's back, just to come to an end at his tailbone.  
  
"U-uhm," he finally manages to choke out and hates Dean stronger than ever before, hates him with a burning passion that's only reflected by the bright red blush extending all the way up to his hairline.  
  
Dean's head drops forwards, the fingers of his left hand clenching around the edge of the table plate in front of him until the knuckles turn white. "Dean," Castiel pleads helplessly, looking away pointedly.  
  
That's when the other boy turns his head just slightly, widens his eyes as he notices Castiel's presence and barely has the time to cover his mouth before he's tensing up, head flying back and body shaking with the intensity of his arriving orgasm.  
  
Castiel still can hear it, the surprised, "Cas?" Dean tried so desperately to contain.  
  
Before he can think better of it, Castiel whips around and leaves the library with burning cheeks. This has crossed about five hundred thousand lines and he really honestly wishes to take a step back, make time rewind and simply look for something to eat.   
  
  
When Dean at some point finds Castiel, he's staring out of the window, straight into the piles and piles of snow keeping both of them trapped.   
  
"Cas?" Dean makes himself noticed, feebly knocking against the doorframe.  
  
"Oh God," Cas groans unhappily, "I can't even look at you right now, please go away, Dean." There's a long pause before he hears Dean's voice for the next time. "I didn't want - Cas, you didn't - Shit." And it's something about the way he says those words that makes Castiel want to turn his head, but he still resists. He's still angry and embarrassed and most of all, confused.  
  
Castiel can't quite define it, but Dean has left him behind utterly scatterbrained.  
  
"Nevermind," he sighs and while he squeezes himself out of the classroom to escape the other boy, Castiel keeps his gaze fixed on the floor.  
  
Just when he's is about two steps down the hallway, fingers close around his wrist, spin him around so suddenly, his empty stomach makes a loud, disgruntled noise. "Dean," he begins to rant, one hand already flying up to push at Dean's chest, but then something hard is digging into his shoulder, into the space right underneath his injury from the day before.  
  
"Hey, Dean, stop, my - wow, get your hands off," he snarls angrily, using his entire weight to shove Dean, whose facial expression hovers between concerned and infuriated.  
  
"For  _once_ try and care about things other than yourself because you - I don't understand."  
  
"Cas, I wasn't-," Dean starts, but Castiel doesn't even want to hear it. If Dean had attempted to say something fitting a minute ago, he might have been down for a talk, but now? It's so hard to even  _look_ at Dean since Castiel knows about the twinkle in his eyes that pierces even through the intense green like a shooting star when he's totally enraptured by pleasure, since he knows how his own name sounds when it spills from those lips like a confession.  
  
And Castiel hates everything about the newfound knowledge.  
  
"I don't care, Dean," he snaps and tries rather desperately not to let his eyes flick up at Dean. "And I don't care what you're gonna say, so either you can help me and search the school for something to eat or - Yeah, I don't care about that as well!"  
  
With that, Castiel twirls around and every possible chance of fleeing from the green-eyed asshole vanishes when he can hear footsteps follow him.  
  
"Cas, my brother needs me."  
  
"I don't care."  
  
"Someone has to take care of him and with my dad being gone since a week-"  
  
"I don't care."  
  
"And alright, I haven't always been-"  
  
"Dean. I. Do. Not. Care. Why don't you listen?" Castiel groans, shoots him an unnerved glare and picks up his pace. While he sprints up the stairs to the second floor, Dean stays on his coat-tails, at some points manages to run faster than Castiel and skids around the corner first.  
  
"Are you getting all flustered, so you can't look at me properly, Cas?" he mumbles and casually lets his forearm function as barricade. "That's not," Castiel finds himself stuttering, "what I mean."  
  
"Then do it," Dean demands, his voice now barely coming out as more than a whisper, and traps Castiel between the wall and his chest. "Do what?" Castiel scoffs unhappily and wants to duck away under Dean's arm. "Look at me," is the answer, "look at me one time, Cas."  
  
It would be so much easier if there were no six feet of messy-haired, slightly breathless Dean right against his front.  
  
"No, and now let me-"  
  
When Dean tangles his fingers in his hair and and ever so gently tugs his head back, Castiel can't help but wonder if there even is a name for the shade of green staring right through him, reaching out with its purity to the darkest corners of his mind and illuminating them with a weak shimmer.  
  
It's quiet and beautiful and Castiel never has hated anything or anyone more.  
  
"Dean, I'd really suggest we go and look for something to eat," he presses out, unfortunately still forced to endure the agonizing eye contact. "Yeah," Dean breathes and nearly reluctantly releases Castiel's hair from his meanwhile painful grip. Slowly withdrawing his hands, he turns away and starts strolling down the hallway.  
  
Castiel, on the other hand, needs to rest his head against the cool wall for just a little longer.  
  
 _I need to get out of here._  
  
Their frantic search, to both their complete dismay, ends half an hour later with Dean trying to call Sam out of a moment of total loss of control and Castiel wrapping his jacket tighter around himself. For some reason the temperature inside the building keeps decreasing, and Castiel is everything but happy about it.  
  
"Hey, Dean?" he mutters, trying to put one and one together.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's pretty cold in here, right?" Castiel asks for his affirmation and tries to figure out what exactly it is that makes him feel so sick. "Yeah, smartass, it's pretty  _fucking cold_ in here," Dean barks out a laugh and slides his phone from one side of the table in the library to the other.   
  
"Yeah, right? And what is ice, Dean, what is ice?"  
  
"Are you kidding me? Everyone knows what-"  
  
Castiel drops the Chemistry book he's been skimming through to the floor and sucks in a breath. Finally. "The water in the taps is gonna freeze, Dean," he whispers.  
  
"Shit."  
  
There's no need for either of them to say something, they scramble to their feet simoultaneously and race down the hallway, Castiel's feet threatening to slip away on the linoleum.  
  
Dean reaches the boy's bathroom first, leaving Castiel barely the time he needs to slip past the threshold before the door slams shut again. "Come on, come on," Dean coughs, fiddling with the temperature regulators. When he turns on the controller for cold water, it gives a small creak, but nothing happens. The sink below the tap remains as dry as it has been before.  
  
"No, no, no," Dean growls, staggering over to the next sink, while Castiel takes a closer look at the one Dean just chanced it. A quiet swish sounds as Dean's leather jacket hits the tiled floor and Castiel's fingers tighten on the regulator.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Dean is worrying his lower lip between his teeth and has proceeded to work on the pipe leading into the wall with a determination in the way he lets his fingers dance across the metal that leaves Castiel impressed for half a hearbeat.  
  
"Working and I don't wanna get wet," Dean explains, swiftly rising to his feet again and turning on the controllers.  
  
No water.  
  
"Oh, come on!" Castiel shouts in frustration, striking a helpless blow at the regulator for hot water on his tap, and waits for a moment. No water. "Really?" He bends over and angles his head to stare up into the pitch black darkness of the thin iron pipe that usually is so reliable.  
  
"Come on!"  
  
"Cas, chill, screaming won't-"  
  
Water. A sudden, icy jet of water spurts across his face, the cold drops trickling down the back of his neck and along his spine, drenching the collar of his shirt. "Oh, Christ," he shudders, "what on earth?" His shirt now is clinging to his back and chest, darkened and so fucking cold.  
  
"Well," Dean drawls and looks like he had so hold back a chuckle, "that's what I'd call looking crestfallen."  
  
"You - I - God," Castiel hisses, aggravation sweeping through his bones and igniting a blazing fire inside his stomach.  
  
Both boys somehow manage to collect two empty water bottles from trash cans in a classroom, which they fill to the brink with that icy water and immediately down before re-filling them. "Pretty chilly," Dean concludes and gnashes his teeth to stop them from clashing against one another too hard.  
  
Castiel keeps his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself.  
  
  
*  
  
  
There is nothing.   
  
No signal, no voices from the speakers, no electricity and worst of all - still no food.  
  
Castiel full well knows that one could survive a week or two without ingesting anything to eat, but he'd rather not put his body to the test. He had heard Dean's stomach growl unhappily, too, before he'd retreated himself to his sleeping place with a few books from the library.  
  
Everywhere would be better than the room Dean Winchester is spending his time in.  
  
The tiny voice in the back of Castiel's head telling him that spending his time isn't the only thing Dean had done in the library gets bluntly ignored.  
  
 _Loneliness was engulfing him, trapping him inside his own body, and no matter how loud he was screaming, there was no way to escape._  
Shadows everywhere, creeping in on him and swallowing him alive. Darkness. A thin voice filtered down to him, barely more than a whisper, but it still managed to pierce through-  
  
Castiel slams his book shut, this really isn't getting him anywhere and if it wasn't for the incident this morning, he might consider going back to the library and pick a new one.  
  
Immediately, the images return, Dean's widened, lust-blown pupils and his name tumbling from red-bitten lips when the muscles of Dean's shoulders had gone all tense, even visible through the fabric of his leather jacket. An unwelcome shudder burns its way down Castiel's spine and he shivers, tugging the wet shirt away from his chest.  
  
He's tried to take it off, but with just his jacket it had been even worse than keeping that drenched tee on.  
  
"What would people in movies do?" Castiel mumbles into the silence and stares out into the white. Right, people in movies would run and scream and waste their energy on trying to dig a way through all that snow outside or die in an attempt to use chemicals from the lab to make a miniature bomb that would make the front dor blow up.  
  
No, he's not too keen on any of that.  
  
About ten minutes later, just when the thought of just quickly choosing a new book has become really desirable, someone (Dean) knocks on the closed door.  
  
"What do you want?" he calls, not too friendly, and shifts in his chair.  
  
"Cas, can I come in?" Dean asks and maybe it's because there's a door restraining his voice, but he sounds extremely quiet and probably that's what makes Castiel sigh and shout a brief, "Okay."  
  
The first thing Dean does as he takes a few tentative steps into the room is grin, but then, when his eyes are drawn down to where Castiel has got his arms tightly slung around his torso to keep himself warm, his expression changes into something along the lines of...understanding? Caring maybe?  
  
"Look, I wanted to save it for later, for when shit really came down, but," he untangles his arms from where they'd been hidden behind his back, "here, I didn't eat 'em."  
  
Castiel can feel his eyebrows rise in disbelief and for a second he simply glares at the fries, trying to understand what the fuck is going on.   
  
"Good for you," is what eventually comes out between shaking breaths and his own palms rubbing against one another.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Dean collapses against the wall and invitingly pats the space beside him as though he was telling Castiel to come sit with him. "Do you think I want to s-sit," Castiel needs to interrupt himself to blow air over his reddened fingers, "next to y-y-you - shit - you?"  
  
"No," Dean answers truthfully, "but we could maybe, just for now, simply share these fucking fries and thank God yetis don't actually exist."  
  
With a hearty sigh, Castiel picks himself up form his chair and staggers on stiff legs over to the other boy. "That doesn't sound too much like Shakespeare."  
  
"Just 'cause I like Romeo and Juliet doesn't mean I'm into poetry, you hear that?" Dean chides and pops a couple fries into his mouth. "Sure," Castiel snorts and hastily snatches a handful of fries of his own before Dean gets to eat everything.  
  
It's just for this tiny moment that he doesn't bother dwelling in anger for the things Dean has done because Castiel realizes that, no matter how much of an assbutt Dean is nonetheless, he's snowbound, too, and happy to eat disgusting fries and if that doesn't explain Castiel's sudden calmness, then he doesn't have any idea what the fuck is going on in his upstairs brain.  
  
Hell, he even ceases to think about what happened this morning.  
  
All he does is revel in the taste of dry, sort of flaccid potato sticks and not object when Dean slides one arm out of his jacket and wraps that half around Castiel's shaking shoulders.  
  
And maybe, maybe, between quiet moans at the food their stomachs get to digest, Dean apologizes for something, but Castiel doesn't want to think about that now, doesn't want to hear something that might change his opinion about Dean. Because nothing could, right?  
  
Wrong.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAS THAT OKAY? I'M SORRY IF NOT? PLEASE LET ME KNOW? I LOVE YOU.


	5. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are you supposed to do when it's just so fucking cold, really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame it all on school, sorry :c

When Castiel wakes up, all he can see is black.  
  
Black and as he manages to pull his head back just the slightest, he can make out a faint grey in all those dark colors, a cool, light contrast piercing through to him. "Mmh," sounds suddenly from somewhere above him and he jerks back instinctively, arms flying up to shield himself.  
  
He doesn't even get more than a few centimeters away, though.  
  
And the reason for Castiel's sudden inability to move are two arms curled tightly around his waist, a chin on the crown of his head and his own chest pressed against something alive.  
  
"Oh my God," he hisses, bringing his palms up to that stupid chest in front of him, and uses all the strength he can summon up right now to bring a bit of distance between Dean and himself. "What even?" Castiel breathes when none of his efforts seem to make a hit.  
  
"Woah, Cas, watch the leg," Dean complains and closes his fingers around one of Castiel's wrists.  
  
Just this small skin-on-skin contact has Castiel freezing in place and that is when it finally occurs to him what must have happened to be in this current position, more or less (and Castiel will always claim it's definitely a "less" sort of case) melting into Dean's side, head somwhen during the few hours of sleep they must have gotten slid to the other boy's chest and their legs a tangled mess of boneless limbs.  
  
"Dean, let go," Castiel snaps, scooting a few inches back, "seriously, that's not funny, why are you doing this?"  
  
"Could you stop whining? It wasn't _me_ tugging on  _your_ sleeve to keep the jacket but vice versa, Cas," Dean yawns and scrubs a hand over his cheeks. His eyes are still slightly smaller than usual and just this once both are grateful for the temporarily lack of sun since they don't have the urge to protect their eyes from any bright light sources.  
  
"Dean," Castiel sighs the exact same second Dean mumbles a sleepy, "Cas."  
  
There's surprise within the green of Dean's eyes as his gaze darts down and burns its way straight through Castiel's suddenly very constricted chest. "Soo, aren't we going to talk about this? The morning after?" Dean smirks and snatches a few leftover fries from the ground.  
  
"What do you- Jesus," Castiel groans and finally succeeds in withdrawing himself completely from Dean.  
  
Once he's out of the previous tight embrace and the cool air, that by now surely is equally cold everywhere in the building, strikes a cruel blow at his skin, Castiel notices his shirt is still clinging to his chest with the same icy grip it already had yesterday. Of course it couldn't dry if there was no warmth.  
  
And despite Dean's presence and the burning eyes on his neck as he turns around, Castiel proceeds to ever so swiftly strip off his shirt and nearly immediately slip his bare arms back into the sleeves of his jacket. "Next time, you know, just a friendly advise, do it a little slower," Dean suggests and clicks his tongue in playful disapproval.  
  
"That was really unnecessary, Dean," Castiel can hear himself sigh, shaking out his shirt before draping it over the backrest of a chair.  
  
"Just like your tiny strip _tease,_ " the other boy retorts and the corners of Dean's mouth quirk up into a grin.  
  
Three nights, it has been three nights and all Castiel really wants to do right now is smash in a window or punch the front door hard enough for the impact to draw blood from his knuckles and stain his skin. He wants to get out of here,  _needs_ to get out of here to finally be able to breathe again.  
  
"C'mon, wanna check if someone came for us, Cas?" Dean asks suddenly, leather jacket back in place and zipped up, and rather hopefully scrambles to his feet to leave the classroom.  
  
Castiel follows suit, but way less enthusiastically, and drags his feet down the hallway to the entrance hall. The air brushing his shoulders on every step invades his jacket and sends chills down his spine, burning each vertebra on their way.   
  
"Well," Dean mumbles once they stand in front of the entrance door and feebly joggle the door handles, "shit."  
  
"We don't have more than a few fries, okay, we don't know whether the water in the pipes is frozen, Dean, we don't know how much colder it will get, we don't know when or if someone's coming to save us, to fucking save two people and we don't know-"  
  
"Cas, wow, Cas, you need to calm down," Dean warns and places a hand on Castiel's shoulder, thumb slowly stroking across the fabric of his jacket, but he shakes it off. "Don't tell me to calm down, this is - this is our third day and if you want to tell me that this amount of time for the rescue to arrive is normal, then I don't know what's wrong with you because we should long since be reported as missing and-," he goes on, carding his fingers through his hair time after time just to  _do_ something, anything.  
  
The steps Castiel takes to pace through the entrance hall speed up until he's damn near running from one wall to the other.  
  
"Dude, you gotta take a deep breath," Dean chides, making motions with his stupid warm hands that probably are meant to calm Castiel down, when, in fact, all they do is aggravate him further. "No, no I don't have - we can't just sit here and - No, no, no," he voices under his breath.  
  
No matter whether his would be any sort of officially diagnosed panic attack, Castiel finds the cool oxygen he inhales churning in his chest, scraping at his ribs with a steady promise of an icy sting.  
  
"Wow, wow, Cas, don't freak me out like that," he hears Dean's voice, faintly, distantly, somewhere between snowflakes and blackboards and fries.  
  
And then he simply stops replying and picks up his pace instead.  
  
"Cas? Dammit, Cas."  
  
Castiel could swear he had tasted Dean's name on his tongue before realizing he is about to say it, but that seems to become irrelevant when something,  _someone_ takes a firm hold of his wrists, brings them up above his head and he's backed up against the wall.  
  
"Dean, we need - we need help and.." he trails off, staring at a point that's beyond the things he should be able to see.  
  
"Seriously, Dean,  _Dean._ "  
  
For an infinitesimal moment Castiel believes the fear within Dean's eyes might let him breathe again, but if anything, it only becomes incredibly harder to pump air back into his lungs. The grip on his wrists and the forearm on his chest restrain Castiel from getting his bubble of personal space back that he wants to hide in so desperately.  
  
"Dude, hey, Cas, hold on. Jesus, what's going on with your lips?" Dean mutters and before Castiel can do so much as reply, fingertips travel up his neck, over his jaw and come to rest on the verge of his bottom lip.  
  
"They're all blue and," Dean stops for a second, inching slightly closer, "violet."  
  
At this point, Castiel is pretty sure that the blood in his veins has frozen from keeping still for more than thirty seconds and only blankly stares down at Dean's fingers. "It's quite cold," he excuses himself tonelessly.  
  
There's something flashing up in Dean's eyes, hidden deep down below all that sass and mischief and aloofness, but Castiel can unmistakably make out that tiny shadow sweeping through the pure green. "I swear to God, if you go all icicle on me, I'm gonna - I will," Dean whispers, his fingers now restless on Castiel's cheeks.  
  
He doesn't know what it is, may it be the cold, may it be the sudden irredeemability, but Castiel loses the control over his legs and they buckle, knees giving in under his weight. And if it wasn't for Dean's hard grip on his wrists, he would have collapsed just then.  
  
"Woah, Cas, hey," Dean sucks in a breath, his free arm instinctively curling around the other boy's waist to hold him upright.  
  
Somehow Castiel's arms have slipped out of Dean's grip and are now loosely draped around his neck. "We're gonna die here," he states quietly and presses his forehead against Dean's shoulder, "we're gonna die here, Dean."  
  
"Cut it out, Cas, goddammit," he snaps and shoves him away to stab him with one of those looks.  
  
"We'll freeze and the ambulance won't find us until we're-"  
  
"Shut up, I don't want to hear that!"  
  
"- dead and frost-shattered and there will be-"  
  
"Cas, I told you to cut it out!"  
  
"- nothing you can do about it, Dean, nothing, we're gonna starve in here or-"  
  
"Shut up, Cas!"  
  
"- have to suffer until eventually the cold will kill us and we...Dean we're not gonna see our families again, we're gonna leave them and-"  
  
"Do you even hear what you're saying?"  
  
As strange as it might sound, yes, Castiel is fully aware of every word he's saying and he believes in it. To the very last syllable spilling from his trembling lips.  
  
"Yes, and we're gonna-"  
  
Warmth.  
  
His lips are still parted from what was about to end up as the second half of another depressing sentence, but when Dean kisses him, it's so different from the first time he's felt those lips moving against his. They are still not gentle, claiming his mouth with such ease, Castiel's fingers glide from Dean's shoulders to his biceps, but not simply pressuring anymore. Right now, they're desperate and greedy and breathtaking and, wow, Castiel still can't move.  
  
"Don't ever say that again," Dean demands and with every second of the sheer heat radiating off the other boy's body, Castiel can feel his chest slowly beginning to heave and his muscles to twitch, signaling him his actual will and want and need have returned all at once.  
  
"And I said," he breathes, dropping his head back against the wall with a hapless sigh, "don't kiss me again."  
  
Dean takes a step back, tongue darting out to briefly lick across his lips, and just for a moment Castiel finds himself wondering what it was like for Dean. Whether he can still taste him on his lips, just like he still can taste Dean.  
  
"Yeah, right, but," he hesitates,  _"a pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life."_  
  
"And what did I say about quotes, Dean?" Castiel groans and there's a small part of him that hates the way his lips are burning, yearning for more of the sweet taste lingering on his mouth, craving the warmth that blew life right back into Castiel's bones.  
  
Placing a hand over his heart, Dean lets a broad grin snap into place. "One day, Cas, one day you're gonna fall for Shakespeare, or so help me God -"  
  
"Noooooo," Castiel exclaims, covers his ears and flees.  
  
  
*  
  
  
It just so happens that Dean catches him just when he went to take a look at his shirt.  
  
"Dry yet?"  
  
"Oh my, shit, don't sneak up behind me like that," Castiel complains and hastily picks up the now crumpled up pile of fabric to his feet. "But I thought you liked it from be-"  
  
"Okay," he interrupts, abruptly striking a blow at the air around him, "what do you want Dean?"  
  
Absently fiddling with the zipper of his leather jacket, Dean shrugs allusively and clears his throat before mumbling, "Are you freezing, Cas?" The question takes him utterly aback and Castiel finds himself forced to have Dean repeat his question two more times until it sinks in that this isn't a lame joke but actually serious. "I'm good," he eventually waves it off, but the goosebumps gracing his forearms prove Dean different.  
  
"Yeah, uhm, do you want some of mine? Maybe?"  
  
"No," Castiel shoots back immediately, pursing his lips, "very funny, though."   
  
"I was serious, dumbass, if you're cold just take it, really. I'm wearing shit tons of layers," Dean claims and tugs the jacket aside a little. "Jacket." His fingers slip under the hem of the black bandshirt with long sleeves. "Sweatshirt." Slowly tugging the thin fabric up to the level of his pectoral muscles, Dean goes on to the next layer of clothing. "Normal shirt."  
  
And despite Castiel's effort, he can't stop his lips from twitching into a smile.  
  
"Another shirt, damn, why do I wear so many layers?" Dean speaks more to himself than anyone else. "Dean," he chuckles, "leave it, I'm really not in-"  
  
 _Skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin.  
  
_ Tan and smooth and perfectly stretching over the slightest hint of hipbones peeking out from the waistband of Dean's pants. "So, anything you want?" Dean wants to know, tucking everything back into its previous place, and unlike his shirt, Castiel's throat suddenly is dry as fucking bone.  
  
"Cas?" Dean repeats, snapping his fingers in front of his nose.  
  
"Wha- ah, yeah, no thanks," he declines and clenches his jaw, gnashing his teeth. "You're actually cold as hell, aren't you, Cas?" he hears then and before Castiel can even think about giving an answer, he gets two strong arms around his torso, a belt buckle digging into the small mound of skin below his own navel and a warm cheek pressed against his neck.   
  
"But I'm not cold," he argues and closes his eyes to absorb as much of Dean's warmth as he can.   
  
"Sure you're not," Dean murmurs and for a stupid reason begins to guide his palm in long, soothing strokes up and down Castiel's back, sliding right across the minor stab wound from day one, causing him to jerk. "Sorry, was that - Does it still hurt?"  
  
It's somewhat familiar, the tight embrace and the gentle hands traveling over his back, because it reminds Castiel of those nights when Gabriel would calm him down after waking up in the middle of the night from a nightmare he used to be haunted by.  
  
"Not really, it's fine," Castiel tells Dean and tentatively brings his own fingers up to the other boy's shoulders, placing his hands on the soft leather.   
  
 _It's necessary, you still dislike him, it's a necessary hug, nothing more.  
  
_ "Yeah. I'm - I'm sorry about that," Dean confesses, breath ghosting down Castiel's spine. And then he simply keeps talking, reciting stupid paragraphs and song lyrics and maybe somewhere between all that he tells him about his little brother and how his dad went on a buisness trip and hasn't been home in a few days.  
  
 _"When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars and he will make the face of Heaven so fine, that all the world will be in love with the night."  
  
_ "Dean," Castiel moans unhappily, but is cut off by lips he definitely knows the taste of pressing against his shoulder, right where the plaster is underneath the material of his jacket.  
  
"Would you be angry if I kept talking?"   
  
"Yes," he confirmes, "yes, Dean."  
  
A smug smirk finds its way onto Dean's face as he answers,  _"Make it a word and a blow."_  
  
"What is it with you and blowing?" Castiel sighs and dislodges the comforting palms from his back, shaking his head in a mixture of confusion and annoyance. The cold immediately charges at him, sneaking its way under his shirt and engulfing him entirely, clamping down around his thighs and waist and chest.  
  
Dean only shrugs and turns away without one more word, simply leaves Castiel a little step closer to coming undone.  
  
And maybe it's something about the way his shoulder slump down and the noise of feet dragging across linoleum that has Castiel grudingly following Dean into the hallway. "Hey," he calls.  
  
"What?"  
  
"We're gonna make it out of here, right?" Castiel gives a weak attempt of saying something positive. "Sure, if we don't starve," Dean barks and closes the door to the library without any further do.  
  
  
In the following few hours, Castiel and Dean share the fries they'd left the day before since they'd been smart enough to preconceive the inevitable hunger that would rage inside their stomachs and avoid each other the rest of the time. But Castiel doesn't get rid of the nagging feeling that something's going on with Dean, something that he craves to know.  
  
It might have something to do with the way Dean's arms felt around him, but he's determined to unravel that seemingly unapproachable badass, even though there's a voice in the corner of his mind telling him off.  
  
Fastening his jacket, Castiel traipses from his room to the library.  
  
"Decided to take the offer?" Dean's voice resonates in the aisles of bookshelves, departing gradually even before Castiel can do so much as say something. "What offer?"  
  
"Are you freezing?"   
  
There are a few strands of sandy-brown hair peeking out behind a shelf board and he saunters around the corner, curious and maybe a little anxious. "No, I'm not freezing, Dean," he tells the other boy and cocks an incredulous eyebrow as he finds himself staring down at a totally curled up, disgruntled Dean.  
  
"Dean?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Castiel can feel the tension being eased out of his features of its own accord. "You alright?"  
  
"I'm golden, man," Dean replies, head whipping up to reveal a toothy grin. His eyes stay empty, though, cold and unaffected. "No, you're not," he disagrees and, against better knowledge, crouches down beside Dean, tilting his head to the side as though offering him the chance to talk.  
  
"I'm - Look, it feels like I'm going out of my fucking mind, Cas, with my brother probably home alone and - Why are you even asking?"  
  
Dean's fingernails are leaving deep crescents in the brown leather of the sleeves of his jacket, chiselled jawline coming out even more than usual. "I was just trying to be nice, if you want me to leave then just say it and I'm -"  
  
"No!" Dean snaps, gaze fixed on the tips of his shoes. "I meant, no, don't, please."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
This is wrong. Castiel knows that he should better stay a hundred thousand feet away from Dean and his stupid quotation and those eyes, the warmth that literally seems to be rolling off his body in waves, colliding with Castiel and drawing him in by invisible threads.  
  
It pisses him off, it really does, the way Dean lets his facade slip for just as long as it takes Castiel to develop an actual kind of concern for him, just to barricade up the next heartbeat.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
 _Really? Like, really?  
  
_ A dry snort escapes Castiel and he shifts to sit in front of Dean rather than next to him, sighing in resignation. "One last try before I go, so, what is it, Dean?"  
  
He could swear he's never seen as many changes in a person's facial expression as he sees in the following ten seconds. Dean's narrowed eyes widen for a moment before he screws them shut, a single muscle in his jaw twitching, and then he allows himself to look at Castiel again, jaw gone completely slack.  
  
"Your face."  
  
"Really?" Castiel shouts, balling his hands into angry fists, "Really, Winchester? Do you think this is funny? Is this just a  _joke_ to you?" How could he have been so stupid and expect an honest answer from at asshat? Just because he'd seemed like a human being for a minute.   
  
Somehow during this brief moment of yelling his frustration straight into Dean's face, the other boy has rosen to his knees and now is leaning in dangerously close, eyebrows drawn together.  
  
"What you gonna do about it, Cas?"  
  
There's a challenging undertone to Dean's voice that he doesn't miss and it makes his hair stand on end, electricity sparking through every nerve and setting his entire body on high voltage. "You think you're being funny when you're being really dumb, this is serious."  
  
"About as serious as your attempts to pretend you dislike me?" Dean counters and Castiel can see the corners of his mouth quirk up into a devious smirk.  
  
"How about you get over yourself?" Castiel growls and presses his lips together.  
  
"How about," Dean mouths, burning fingers brushing against Castiel's thigh on their way up to his cheek, "how about you get over me first?"  
  
"You really don't get it, do you, Dean?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I. Do. Not. Like. You."  
  
A broad grin spreads across the other's lips. "You and me both know that you're bad at lying, give it up."  
  
Okay, Castiel has met more than just one person with a switchblade attitude, but no one has been as unpredicatble as Dean is, going from arrogant asshole to caring in nothing more than a split second. But something inside him has been stirred the second Dean held him in his arms to warm him up and now is unable to settle back down, restlessly swirling through his brain and insides.   
  
He wishes he could pull an internal trigger and prevent himself from slipping deeper into the vortex of confusion Dean has caused.  
  
"What's wrong with you?" he spits out in disgust.  
  
Dean's breath feels nearly damp against his cheek and even though Castiel is infuriated, he's also rigid and frozen in place, mesmerized by the perfect shade of brown of Dean's freckles. Fucking freckled cheeks and fucking freckled nose and fucking freckled Dean.  
  
But Dean's eyes are lingering on his lips, somewhat predatory, and he's not listening anymore.  
  
The breath starts catching in Castiel's own throat, coming out in little puffs that Dean barely even acknowledges. This is not going the way he'd planned.  
  
"Dean, we-"  
  
"Yes."  
  
There's something flaring up between them, in the few inches of cold air between their superheated cheeks, and Castiel probably would have given in to the sudden angry order of his brain to lean into that warmth right across from him since his shirt is still left to dry in another room if it wasn't for the sudden exclamation.  
  
 **"Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak, I repeat, Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak. We need to ask you to stay calm and not attempt to find any exit by yourselves, we are going to drill a hole into the roof of the building to rescue you."  
  
** Dean's and Castiel's foreheads collide painfully as both tip their heads back to glare up at the ceiling.  
  
"Was that God?" Dean wonders.  
  
"No, dumbass, that was like the ambulance or something!" Castiel quiets him and is about to shout something back at the voice without a face, when a second person speaks.  
  
 **"Don, hey, you don't even know when we'll manage to get through to them."  
  
** **"Jenna, shut up, they're just kids, get off the microphone, you'll scare them."  
  
** Without a second of hesitation as it seems, Dean's fingers find their way in between Castiel's and he holds onto his hand as if that was the one thing he nedeed not to lose it. There is fear shining in the green of Dean's eyes and the previous anger and fighting is all forgotten when the taller boy's mask crumples down and his shoulders droop hopelessly.  
  
"It's gonna be okay, Dean, you know that, right?" Castiel whispers, staring at their entwined hands, and hates the toasty feeling inside his stomach.  
  
He's balancing on an incredibly thin line between love and hate and Dean keeps making him play jump rope with it.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Let me know! c:


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